Page 30 of Handful

“That’s a line.”

“It’s not a line.”

I believed him.

I smiled against his chest. His heartbeat was slow under my ear. The clubhouse was quiet — the deep-night quiet of a building that held a lot of people during the day and held very few of them now.

“Tyler.”

“Yeah?”

“Tonight was good.”

“Yeah.” His hand found my hair, fingers moving slow and absent. A man with nowhere he needed to be. “It was.”

I closed my eyes. Thought about the toast. The kitchen. The way Wren had smiled at me across the table. The way Tyler had stepped back from Tanya’s hand on the porch and turned toward me without hesitation.

The women who’d been in this room before me — I didn’t know how many, didn’t want to know. But I knew they’d left. All of them. They’d come and gone and he’d let them, because letting them go had been the easiest thing in the world.

I was not going to be easy to let go. I was going to make sure of that, too.

His breathing evened out. I stayed awake a while longer, listening to the quiet, my hand on his chest, his arm around me. The cut was on the back of the door. The bikes were in the lot. The family was in their houses on the lane.

I stayed.

Chapter 8

❧

— Handful —

Last night I hadn’t been inside the bar, but I was out front when she closed. I did that on the nights I wasn’t in there — pulled up around last call, got a coffee from the all-night place down the block, and waited. Just to see her get out safe and make sure she got home.

She came out ten minutes later, keys in hand, and stopped when she saw the bike. Not looking at me — at the bike. She walked over, looking apprehensive like she was working up to something.

“What’s it like?” she asked, still looking at the bike.

“What’s what like?”

“Riding. What does it feel like.”

She put her hand on the seat in front of me. Palm flat, fingers testing the leather, the way she tested the temperature of a pour. The seat was warm. My warmth — I was still sitting on it, and she was running her hand over the leather like she had all night.

I was hard in about one second.

“You have to be on it to know,” I said. Kept my voice level. Mostly.

“Can I get on it?”

She’d said no every time I’d offered. Not yet, not ready, it’s too much — never unkind about it, just clear. I’d stopped asking. I figured she’d come to it on her own terms, same as everything else with her.

“Not tonight. Not in the dark and not without gear.” I watched her hand move along the leather. “But if you wanted to go for a real ride — I know where I’d take you.”

“Where?”

“Glenwood. My brother’s place. About three hours each way,” I said. “You haven’t met them. Mark and Heather and the boys. It’s a long first ride though.”

I held my breath as she finally took her eyes off my bike and looked at me. “Okay.”